


Uninvited

by stackcats



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stackcats/pseuds/stackcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie, apparently, is sick of sucking Malcolm off and pretending that's all they need.</p>
<p>Malcolm first-person POV. It's been a while since I've done this POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uninvited

The late-night post-averted political apocalypse routine is so familiar now that my cock actually fucking twitches at the sight of Jamie in the living room necking back a shot of Talisker's mid-range water of life like it's Tesco's blue-and-white striped fucking piss-water.   
  
We've been doing this long enough (twenty years - fuck! Who replaced my blue-eyed brat with the cocksucking lips with this jaded fucking... still dishevelled, still big-eyed alertness and fucking guide-dog fucking loyalty who'd throw himself off the rocks to save me, but Christ... he looks... we've gotten fucking old while I wasn't paying attention somewhere along the fucking track.)   
  
He leaves the empty glass on the bookshelf. I should fucking house-train him, but who's got the time? I take a while longer, savour the alcoholic burn as a contrast against what comes next. I collect the glasses, put them in the dishwasher. Jamie watches wordlessly, belligerent wee cunt, and when I return from the kitchen he crowds me back towards the hall.   
  
"Sofa," I order him. We're not doing this standing, my knees feel like cogs in a rollercoaster that hasn't been serviced since the late eighties. Anyway, I unzip and try to herd him back towards the living room.   
  
"Fuck that," he snarls.   
  
My neck-hair prickles. My fingers flex. My cock stiffens. It's been fucking ages since we had a decent fight.   
  
"If," I say (and fuck you I'm tired), "you aren't on your knees in front of the sofa in fifteen fucking seconds I'm gonna rip your fucking head off and enjoy the quietest, least-attitudey blowjob of my fucking life when I fucking skull-fuck you."   
  
Fucked if I know how he did it, but by the time I've finished talking, I'm in the hallway with Jamie blocking the way to the sofa. He's grinning one of those horrifying aggressive grins that send mortals skittering away in a trail of their own piss.   
  
I'm not a fucking mortal. And I'm hard. And I'm getting off tonight. Don't need his help, but it's more fun to have lips round my cock than my own familiar hand.   
  
"I'm not fucking doing it," he says, getting up in my space, backing me against a wall. "I'm not tugging myself off with your skinny cock in my mouth. I'm not fucking sleeping on your fucking sofa. Fuck you, pal, fucking FUCK you, right?"   
  
It's fear, okay? Are you fucking happy? I can admit that. I'm not the biggest fan of change unless I've fucking orchestrated it, and we've been doing this forever, and I thought - fuck, I thought it was fine. Doesn't mean anything, does it, if your friend helps you get off? It's stress relief, not a fucking marriage. Anyway, I thought the wee gutter-slut got off on it.   
  
"Fuck off then!" I shove him away, and he stumbles back against the other wall. "Did you follow me home just to give me that pathetic speech? Fuck off back to whatever fucking nest or den or fucking hive you sleep in, I haven't the fucking patience for your fucking split-personality bullshit. Get-a-fucking-way, pal."   
  
I go to open the door for him, but he moves like a snake and he grabs my shirt and shoves me up against the door. Hurts. Pain is good, gives me power, and I grab his arms, dig my fingers in, make him snarl. He pulls me forward, pushes me back so my teeth rattle when I hit the wood, and I bite him - always wanted to fucking bite him - below his ear. I bite him and I don't let go.   
  
Jamie howls like a trapped dog, shoves me so I come away with blood on my lips, and then bites me back.    
  
He bites me on the fucking neck.   
  
It's just a nip. I hear the hoarse gasp between us, pretty sure it was mine. He bites again, bites me on the jaw, on the chin, scrapes his teeth against the twelve-hour stubble on my face, and takes my lower lip between his teeth. 

I lick his teeth and he ruts up against me like a fucking whore. I grab his hips, run my hands up his sides. He’s slim, narrow hips, firm arse, and there’s something about the small of his back. Fuck - it’s been twenty years and I never knew how it felt to get my hands up under his shirt and stroke the small of his back.

He sucks on my tongue, and the old rollercoaster cogs tremble dangerously. I can’t fall cause I can’t fucking let go - I’m grabbing his hair, I’m undoing his shirt, I’m losing my fucking cool, and so is he - he can’t stop kissing me, my mouth, my face, my neck, and  fuck me but I don’t want him to fucking stop. I grab his hips again, and I hitch a leg up, and he pushes me up, and we’re - what the fuck is this? I haven’t done this since high school, in the back of my car with that older lad, I’ve forgotten his name, not fucking, just rutting, just this, just wanting to fucking feel something, but this isn’t some nameless teenage fumble, this is my fucking Jamie, mine, my friend, my right-hand, my blue-eyed fucking…

“Mine,” I say. Alright, I’m a liar. I don’t say  mine  at all. I want to, but what I actually say is “ Yours ”, mouth pressed to his ear, one hand in his hair and the other down the back of his trousers. 

“Fuck,” he replies, and bites me again, on the side of my neck. “Fuck yes. Mine, Malc, you’re fucking  mine .”

I’m completely fucking sure of it.

Jamie insists on the bedroom. Half-way up the stairs he drags his nails down my back, the sensation weirdly cold through my shirt, and I hesitate long enough for him to have me up against the stair-rail. He’s behind me, the bulge of his cock against my arse, and I know I’m making noises, but fuck it, fuck you, I fucking  need … But somehow, some-fucking-how, we make it to my room.

He sheds his shirt, rips mine right off my fucking shoulders, grabs me, kisses me, gets one hand between us and rubs me. It’s fucking amazing, the feel of his skin against mine, the raw nerve-pleasure when his nipple rubs against mine, the thick tingle of his fingers all over me. He’s the controller, the director, this is his gig, and he came prepared. As he strips out of his trousers, he takes a condom from his back pocket.

“Top drawer,” I tell him. The bottle of lube hasn’t seen much use lately. Jamie gives it a cursory glance, apparently appeased that it isn’t fucking banana flavoured or some shit.

Moments later, I’m face-down on my own bed, naked, with Jamie behind me. The cleaner’s been in today. The sheets are fresh and crisp, cold under me, tucked neatly. I push myself up, look around, and he has the fucking audacity to slap me on the arse. 

“Fuck, Malc,” he breathes as he rolls the condom on.

I’ve never really touched his cock before, but I know it’s thick. I’m a lost fucking cause at this point anyway, my legs spread, and I can’t help rocking against the bed, needing friction. Feels good, helps with - fuck it, helps with the nerves, and fuck you, it’s been a bastard of a long time since… can’t remember his fucking name either. Only one name on my tongue now.

I’m not fucking ashamed, right? I groaned his fucking name as he pushed into me, whined it as he pulled out, and fucking  shouted it when he slammed in again.

“Fuck! Jamie, more fucking lube, right fucking now!”

I like it wet. He obliged. Good boy. Oh  fucking good boy. He fucks like the cheap mutt whore he is, hands on my back with him flush against me, then standing and pulling my hips back to him, but it’s when he’s on top of me, when he’s grinding me into the bed, when he’s kissing my neck and talking absolutely fucking garbage in my ear, that’s when I love him, and Jesus skeletal fucking mummified  Christ do I love him.

“I love you,” I yelp, as he tugs at my hair.

“Fuck’s sake, Malc!” he howls. “Fucking bastard anemic fucking paperclip-man!” He’s lost it, lost control, hips hammering, cock slamming into me. “Fuck you, you cunt!” he shouts, which is Motherwell’s answer to an affectionate reciprocation. 

I feel him come, feel him twitch inside me, feel his muscles tighten and his jaw clench, and I hear the whine in his throat building to a roar. It’s a disgusting trash-novel cliche, but his orgasm triggers mine, so we come together, at the same time, him inside me, and me all over the pristine sheets. He goes on a little longer, rocking into me though I’m completely fucking spent, and making little noises until he’s done.

I’m lying in my own damp patch, extremely satisfied, a little bit fucking scared I might not be able to get up, and bereft of Jamie as he pulls out, leaving me weirdly exposed. I hear him go to the bathroom and flush the condom. I’ll have to bollock him for that, when I have the strength.

I strip the top sheet. I’m not making the whole fucking bed again, so I pull the winter coverlet out of the cupboard, spread it over the bed, and drag a fresh sheet across it. That’ll have to fucking do, and it obviously does for Jamie because he returns from the bathroom, gathers the sheet around him, and falls right the fuck to sleep.

I shower, shit, brush my teeth, and avoid my own gaze in the mirror, though if you ask me why I’ll rip your fucking kneecaps out and wedge them in your fucking eyesockets so you can get a really good look at your premature fucking arthritis, you withering cunt.

In a minute I’ll go to bed. I’ll lie beside him and listen to him breathe through his mouth, naked on his back in my bed (fucking _uninvited_ , I might add), and fucked if I know how I'm gonna get any sleep tonight. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Simony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788565) by [lemonfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfish/pseuds/lemonfish)




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